The Rivers of Columbia

Her grace wades through the muddied water
Each step stirs up a mealy goo
But on and on she goes til trudging up the banks
Frail moon barely a toothpick
Watches her press on
Up the banks
To breach the castle gate
Where her king has been deposed

And the halls of her kingdom will hear her wailing
See her muddy the steps
And the throne

Yes, even burn it to the ground

Yet even burned
The foundation and framework
Remain true

Burned to the ground
As if the castle made the crown
A faint sigh was all was left of her



Hang your head, dear
for the flag has touched the dust

And all the dirt and grime and slime and things that it mustn’t

Hang your head lower, dear
Discovered we have
That all good things have sweetless ends

And few escape the grime and slime and touch the things we mustn’t

Let your hair drag through the mud, dear
For didn’t we notice as we shook the dust loose

How many stood
When all the while the colors ran in blood
Made up of all the slime and dust and grime

While we cheered for the crown
Our feet have trodden people down
And this flag has meant to them always
What is meant to us this day